Needless Things

I like to think of myself as somewhat of a minimalist. An exaggeration perhaps, but a peek into my closet would shine light on the fact that I barely have enough pants to stretch across the work week. There are very few pairs of shoes. And in cold weather I have to wear the same shirt or sweater more than once before Friday.

The garage looks much the same. There are not a lot of specialized tools or yard machines. I do have two bikes - one a road bike, the other a mountain bike. That feels a little extravagant. I guess.

Not much of a collector of anything, I struggle this time of year to think of things to add to a Christmas wish list. I'm certainly not in need of anything and I worry about where I'll actually keep the things that I do get.

I also have a reputation for ridding the house of anything that hasn't been used since...say, last Tuesday.

"Where's my phlozzy-doodle?" Ainsley will ask.

It takes only a few moments. You can almost see the wheels turning in her head.

"Dad, did you throw it away?"

This makes me feel a bit guilty but it's a fair question. I've plotted, before, to get the kids out of the house so that I can bag up loads of toys that haven't seen the light of day in weeks. Sometimes days.

This isn't to say, though, that I've never owned a completely useless contraption. An impulse buy. A guilty pleasure.

There was the time that Tricia and I bought a beautiful, brand new pool table. Jet black with chrome piping and a sunflower-yellow cloth, it was a sight to see. But given the fact that it had to be set up in the dark and damp basement, I think we probably wound up paying around $25 for every game we actually played.

And then there was the smoothie maker. Looking remarkably like our blender, it chopped up ice and frozen fruit in a flash. Amazing. How does it do it? Did I mention already that it looked an awful lot like a blender?

But my favorite had to be the GPS watch I once saved up for months to buy. No longer would I have to guess how far I had run. No, such haphazardness would risk being off by as much as one or two tenths of a mile. But with a special $150 watch, that by-the-way would have looked bulky even on Susan Boyle's arm, I could accurately track my runs to the nearest thousandth of a mile. But that's not all. It also displayed my top speed, average speed, and heart rate. I may never rival Steve Prefontaine or Jesse Owens but I could definitely track my mediocrity with excruciatingly accurate detail.

But, certainly, I'm not alone in this. We have all found ourselves puzzling our friends and family with some pathetic attempt at material happiness. Some stores devote their whole existence to these types of items. Who doesn't enjoy walking through The Sharper Image or Brookstone just to laugh at the junk they're hawking. Towel warmers. Motorized tie caddies. Grocery list organizers.

But even these items fail to take the cake in uselessness. I recently found myself on a relatively short flight to Philadelphia. Ill-prepared to entertain myself for anything more than a few moments, I reached forward for the latest copy of Sky Mall catalog (is there a "latest copy" or do these stay in circulation for years?). At my fingertips were no fewer than 1,000 products poised to save me from my mundane existence.

Take for instance the Canine Genealogy Kit. For $59.99 I can use my dog's DNA to determine the breeds in her ancestry. This "provides scientific confirmation of the physical characteristics, behavioral tendencies, [and] personality traits...your mixed-breed dog has inherited." Physical characteristics? Thank god I'll finally be able to figure out what she looks like. You know, other than a German Shepherd.

Another favorite was the Telekinetic Obstacle Course. Reasonably priced at $99.95, this game "uses your focused brain waves to maneuver a ball through an obstacle course. A head band and two earlobe clips measure theta wave activity produced by your brain [to]...send a wireless signal to the game." Telekinetic? Brain waves? Tell me every man who was ever convinced, as a child, that he too could be a Jedi Knight isn't putting this at the very top of his Christmas wish list. It didn't actually come with a light saber but I'm sure that, too, can be found somewhere in the catalog - perhaps near the Voice-Activated R2-D2 ($189.95).

But my favorite, by far, was the Solafeet Foot Tanner. "If you always feel like people are gawking at your white feet and the unsightly tan lines around your ankles when you wear sandals or pumps, then you need the Solafeet foot tanner." Darn-tootin' I do! I am sick of people gawking at my pasty white ankles! It seems unfair when there are so many other pasty white body parts they could be looking at instead. But no more. Now for only $229.99 I can purchase a futuristic shoe-box looking doo-hicky with a strange blue light spilling out the two holes located at the top. Just slide it under your desk, slip in one or, preferably, both bare feet and you can get total tan satisfaction while working at the computer. Just think of what the neighbors will think of you now!

Of course there were others. On page 68 was the Magic Showerhead that sprays colored water (technically I think it's done with LED lights). The water actually changes colors every few seconds. I'm not certain what the official safety measures are for a shower but I imagine there's no real danger in turning the lights out and cranking up Pink Floyd. I'm imagining, now, a whole population of men who weren't really in the practice of taking showers finally finding it necessary to lather up from time to time.

As my flight neared its end and I turned the final page of my Sky Mall catalog I couldn't help but look down on the city and suburbs of Philadelphia and think about those poor souls who will go without this Christmas season. Not without Closet Organizing Trouser Racks and Remote Controlled Tarantulas, but without shelter, food, and warmth. And I thought Gee, you know how you could really tick off the needy and down trodden?

You could give 'em a copy of Sky Mall.